Falling Rain
by Not Emo Anymore
Summary: Harry is in Slytherin and never has he been more miserable. And after what's happened to Sirius, he finally breaks down. Spoilers for the 5th book.
1. Boys don't cry

Warning: Spoilers for the 5th book, and it's a tad confusing.

Author's notes: This is set during their sixth year and Harry is in Slytherin.

Boys don't cry

April 2, 1997

There are nights when you wonder what would have been in your life if you had been sorted into Gryffindor. Maybe you wouldn't have had to face Voldemort in first year, there would have been a reason for you to battle Tom Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets, Peter Pettigrew might not have escaped and you would have been living with Sirius, you would have been saved the embarrassment when Hogwarts found out that Ron was the one you missed most, and maybe, just maybe, you wouldn't be crying in Hagrid's Hut during your 6th year because Sirius would be alive and sulking in Gimmauld Place.

But right now, you find solace in the small but comforting home of your first friend, the only friend before and after Ron.

Hagrid's Hut.

You sit on his large chair and whisper nonsensical words to no one as the large man boils water for the tea you so badly need. It is strange because you never cry in front of people. Never ever. Not when the Dursleys beat you, or starve you, not when you lost Ron's friendship for what appeared to be a life time and most certainly not when Cedric died, when you curled up into a small ball like an unborn baby and tears streamed down your face like rivers that just went on and on and on. So you ruefully wonder why it's different when you are 16 and parentless and unloved.

Suddenly the door swings open and a tall and gangly redhead with too long limbs that beautifully make his slender frame perfectly flawed, enters the small cottage.

"Hagrid, have you..." and before he finishes he sees the you, the young man he remembers as the eleven year old boy who shook hands with that pale faced boy after he had just been called the "wrong sort of family for someone like Harry Potter." You look up at him with claret red eyes which are circled by bright pink like the flesh you scratch until it bleeds only now there are perfect spheres of emerald rocks in the middle. He turns to leave, his ears pink matching your own pink puffed eyes, but a look you don't see in Hagrid's eyes makes him stay.

"Harry..." His voice seems small now, awkward and uncertain. He takes a step toward you and you notice it is as undecided as his previous statement. What you don't notice as you stare blankly at his feet is his hand reaching out to you, but as it comes in contact with your forearm, you come undone. He flinches away when you collapse against the chair, tears falling again, however instead of running through the river as it had once been, the tears drop on your hands, now saline rain on already salty skin.

The tea has been forgotten.

"Don't cry anymore." Ron says, now standing facing you, so tall and at this moment so much taller than you in the huge chair. You freeze and find yourself rigidly snapping your head to look at him properly.

"Why not?"


	2. There isn't any reason

There isn't any reason

You look at the pathetic wreck before you crying but not making any sound, hurting and showing every pain. He looked so wretched, that a surge of pity washes over you accompanied by an unexplained feeling of deep regret. You walk over to him as your mind is undergoing a battle, your rational-sided brain (which unusually only spoke out in times of great emotional overload) is telling you that if you went over there now, it would mean you forgive him for the incident in your first year, though, in all honesty, you should never have gotten mad at the first place and the compassionate-sided brain (the one you only show for people you really truly love) is screaming for you to get your stubborn arse over there and help him, and the last and most annoying part of your intellect, the apathetic-yet-spiteful-Malfoy-like-sided part is cavalierly reminding you that Harry Potter is a Slytherin and for all it's worth you should milk every moment of glory that you have now. You are slightly bemused nevertheless you manage to overrule your "Slytherin-self" and you walk over to him and once again place your hand on his shoulder though he falls on your lap and you stumble together on the floor, you don't flinch away this time.

"There isn't any reason to cry, Harry." Your voice is firm and now he is the one who recoils from you, staring at you as if you were a lunatic. It somehow hurts you but you know you're right.

"Why?" he asks again, digging his unreasonably long nails into your arm and even though it stings and a small amount of blood trickles down its length. Neither one of you pulls away, you both simply stare at the ruby liquid.

Funny.

The pain doesn't even seem real.

You take a deep breath and brace yourself as you prepare to answer.

"Because this is how it's supposed to be." He stares at you blankly for a moment, as though he's looking for the hint of a joke in your eyes. He looks horrible already, dishevelled robes, unnaturally untidy dark hair, red green eyes utterly contrasting his stark white skin.

He looks even worse as he clutches his head and starts to scream. You look at him and you are not sure what to do. Had you been a girl this would have come naturally but you're far from being a woman and you know that. Although, you know that when it came to situations like these it was best to have adult supervision which Harry undoubtedly did not want seeing as he throws a hex at Hagrid, who now lies unconscious on the floor.

If he's this good at throwing curses in a state of madness like this it'd be brilliant to see him duel at top form, you muse, but it's not what really goes through your mind, it's somewhere in a far corner, waiting for the opportune moment to come out. In reality you're scared he'll come for you next, but you stand your ground praying he doesn't throw another curse and end up getting himself into bigger trouble.

"LET ME OUT OF HERE!" he screams, his head at the mercy of his hands. "STOP IT! I WANT TO GET OUT! I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE! I DON'T WANT TO BE HUMAN! _LET—ME—GO!!!!_"

"I won't let you," you say directly to him. You don't understand, you _can't _understand, why he wants to get out, why he doesn't want to be human, why he's even here in the first place, crying his eyes out. Nevertheless you place yourself in front of the door and look him in the eye. He is obviously caught unguarded, the surprised look in his eyes. He gawks at you but you are undaunted even as he heads for you in a headlong dash. His hands are around your neck, nails digging deep in your skin.

"Let me out," he hisses at you. You know that both of you are acting entirely out of character, but this had to be done. Though you are not an expert psychotherapist and not the most perceptive person when it comes to emotions, but even you can tell when someone's gone off the deep end.

"No." Harry throws you against the wall, rage filling him clearly and he was throwing it at you, not to you, just at you. His breathing is uneven and ragged, you look in his eyes but instead of seeing rage you see pain scattered across sundry shades of green.

"Why not?!" he demands, pressing against you, tears he doesn't notice splash on your face as he tries to push you further into the dust-white wall. The smallest hint shows the pain that dominated him moments ago.

"Because there's something you have to do."

That did it.

All self-control Harry managed to salvage in the Headmaster's office and when he cursed Hagrid is gone now. He slams you to the wall and blindly begins to throw punches here and there. At first, you let him vent it out, but by some means your "Slytherin-self" surfaces and you block a blow to your gut and shove him away from you. You both try to hit each other with as much force as you can muster. You, being used to childish brawls such as these, you pin him on the ground. But just as you are about to strangle him the door opens and your best friend walks in.

"Ron, what's taking you so long? —RON! GET OFF OF HIM!!!" She rushes toward you and Harry and futilely strives to pull you away. You shrug her hand off and don't say a word. Harry has stooped moving to and looks down at the floor. In a swift gesture, so unlike you, you get off him and proceed to gaze out the window.

Hermione examines Harry's bruised face, in contrast to you; she doesn't care about house differences (except if it was Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson). He looks worse for wear, and the fact that he was crying did not help Ron's case at all. After making sure that Harry was all right on you livid with rage. Another angry person to deal with, you think.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demands, looking at you with that familiar cross scowl. "You could have hurt him badly. He hasn't done anything to you and in spite of that you attack him." Apparently, she's blind to the sketches of blood on your neck and arm. "I know you're daft, Ron. But I never dreamed you could be so insensitive."

That hurt.

"I did not start this, Hermione. He did." This only gets her even more provoked and she walks over and slaps you, something she's only done to Malfoy in third year.

"You were on top of him and hitting him!" she exclaims. You sigh. She doesn't understand that Harry needs this, and all the more so _you_ need this.

"This is none of your business, Hermione."

"It's none of _your _business what Harry does in Hagrid's house!" she retorted.

"He made it made it my business." She throws her hands up in the air and walks out of the room. You look at the Slytherin and he looks back at you, his eyes are calm again and you relax a little.

"He's dead." He tells you looking out to the same place you had been looking at only moments ago.

He was looking at The Shrieking Shack.

"I was told. He's your godfather, right? Sirius Black...the one who showed me who

Pettigrew really was."

"Yeah." He looks at you again and smiles a little. "Thanks, by the way," he says softly and you're somewhat taken aback.

"For what?"

"For giving up your only pet..." He pauses. "And for being the only one who's tried to stop me from getting my way."

"Huh?" Confusion is now your primary emotion as he sits down on the floor, resting his head in his blood stained hands.

"During the summer, I wasn't myself. I said things I didn't mean. I hurt Remus...I almost broke all of his possessions...I was so angry."


	3. Bittersweet Symphonies and Starless Nigh...

Bittersweet Symphonies and Starless Nights

In those few hours that you battled with Ron, you said everything you had wanted to say for so long. Something about this person made you say it. But Ron, the one you met five years ago, was different from what you imagined. This was not the Ron you wanted to become friends with. This Ron was mature and not funny. But maybe that was just the side that he showed when someone was crying. Or maybe somewhere inside you, there was still an eleven-year-old boy, a scar on his forehead, covered by naturally untidy ebony hair and green eyes, that was waiting for Ron to hold out his hand and let Young Harry take it, just like you would have reached out to a brother he never had. Whatever it was you wished You Ron would come back, Young Harry inside you was scared of This Ron.

"I don't want to save the world anymore," you whisper quietly, placing an ice pack on you swollen eye. You were in the infirmary; Madame Pomfrey had given you ice packs while she went to Dumbledore about Hagrid who, up to this moment, was lying unconscious in his hut.

Ron looked up from dressing his wound around his arm. "I know." He resumed attending to the wound. "But you have to." You furrow your brow, look at the water filled glass on the bedside table, and gaze as the light passes through liquid and glass forming a radiant shadow on oak wood.

"Why? There's no one left here who is worth saving." Ron continued to bandage the wound but as he did this he said to you;

"Do you really think so?" he asks you softly, raising his hand a little higher to examine his work. You don't answer him. Did you _really_ believe that no one was worth saving anymore? Was everyone insignificant now that you last hope of a family was gone?

"I don't." He looks at you now, and you see a look in his eyes that seem familiar. "And I reckon your godfather doesn't think so too." You glare at him. Who is he to say he knows what Sirius thinks?

"We'll never know that now. He's dead." You tell Ron icily, but deep inside you your soul is bleeding, a fresh wound blooming inside, the flower of spring.

"Doesn't mean you have to die with him."

"Do you even know what it's like to know that you're going to die? To know you won't live to see the age of thirty?" you ask him.

"I have a vague idea."

"That's all you have. A vague idea."

You stand and cross the room to where a window is, from there you can see an endless mass of trees with diminutive shades of green painting the dull brown with life. Silence settles itself in the room, observing you, rapt in its enchantment. Behind you, Ron falls back on the bed and stares up at the ceiling.

"Nobody likes leaving things or people behind, all the more so, no one wants to be left following. But that's not what dying is." You hear him say, but you're uncertain if he who he was talking to, you or himself. "It's just going ahead to make sure everything is fine for your arrival. It's similar to what Dumbledore said; the ones we love never truly leave us."

"But Sirius did. He left me behind." You squint your eyes, trying to see the small raven on one of the trees. "Besides if no one likes leaving things behind then they should never have left at all."

"If people never leave then they would never have gotten anywhere. One has to leave sometime. There are some places we can't follow right after. Sometimes we can't follow at all."

"That's stupid. Whoever said that is pathetic. Why can't I follow?" You lean forward, looking for the raven you saw. "Why shouldn't I be able to follow? It's easy."

Yes, it is easy. Suicide, why not? A simple draw of blood from your jugular and it's over. After all, there is nothing left to live for, is there? No. Nothing. The lives of every other human being in the world is nothing compared to your family, the family who died to save you and all of humanity. Is it?

"It's easy," repeats Ron, folding his arms on his chest. "It's easy because you're scared. Only cowards try to find the easy way out."

"I'm not a coward," you whisper, not meaning for him to hear, but he does.

"Prove it." You're annoyed with Ron now, it's clear in you voice and when you turn to look at him your eyes are filled with annoyance lined with realization.

"I've decided I'll stay. And I'll try to save the world." Despite your clear aggravation towards him, he places both hands on your shoulders, a gesture of comfort he learned from his family years before.

"Promise?" The question is so softly said; it almost seems like a dream.

"I promise."

It appears as though you love staring out the window nowadays, Harry Potter. The moon sheds its light in the room, delicate silhouettes dance with the wind. Day decides to take rest and pulls its blanket, going by the name Night, over the world, hiding ignorance along with other little secrets. You sit on the floor gazing out at the starless night with Solitude as your companion, and she waits with you quietly, bright blue piercing eyes that twinkle not unlike stars soften while she whispers questions in your ear. Her words descend on you along with a wave of a despondent bliss that you can't describe. Can you save the world? She asks you, coating her malicious poetry with innocence and sweetness that is coalesced with subtle mockery.

"Can I save the world?" you whisper to yourself. Suddenly the song of the crickets becomes louder now that Silence befalls beyond your sight. Their melody rings a thousand times louder in the room carried by the spring breeze that cools your face. It's a bittersweet symphony that somehow, no matter where you go; you cannot escape.

Just as it comes the hymn breaks apart and Silence has returned to you. Can you keep your promise to him? You promise to the world?

Are you really going to try?

"Potter, what are you doing here? Snape wants you." Says a cold voice behind you, sending Silence and Solitude whispering with temerity.

"Did he say what he wanted?" you inquire, voice hoarse from not speaking for a long time. The blond youth shook his head and beckons you to follow him. Wearily, you comply.

Your friendship, if you could call it that, with Draco Malfoy is quite queer. He doesn't speak to you much, nor do you, but hostility has surprisingly never been a problem. Though your fame caused some displeasure to him, he held his tongue but lashed out quite a lot with the Gryffindors. Now he leads you to your bitter potions master, both wondering what the professor of all things liquid could want from you.

"Thank you for your time, Draco. You may leave now," said the greasy haired man upon your arrival. He says nothing, his grey eyes clouding and betraying nothing.

"You asked for me, professor?" you say, looking directly into those black eyes, those chilling eyes that conveyed an empty nothingness.

"Yes. I wanted to discuss if you wish to continue Occlumency. The Headmaster has made it clear that you may choose to discontinue these lessons." You are confused. What had caused the decision to stop Occlumency?

"I don't want to take them anymore, Professor," you hear yourself say. The older man seemed rather surprised for a moment but it was gone in an instant.

'Very well." He nods at you indicating that you can leave. As you close the door you hear him mutter something you'd never thought you would hear.

"I hope you know what you are doing to yourself, Harry Potter. Nonetheless, be well."

Hm, that was interesting. You make your way down the corridor and wonder what you had really done now that you stopped occlumency. Was this for the better? You were never one to digress on such complex things such as war, strategy and what was safe. No. You questioned for a moment and then like a lamp that loses oil after a period of time you burn out, accepting the situation for what it was, those times, however was when you were the naïve boy whose only care in the world was to be alive.

What had changed?

_Pop._

A small sound echoed inside your head and a tinge of pain began to flow, from the back and settling itself in the front. Too many question plagued your mind and you feel you must have been thinking too hard. You decide that sleep is you only other option and head for your dormitory. But what you see as you turn the corner is something you will never forget.

Bent down on the ground in hand covering his mouth and the other supporting him, the red head was coughing and the sound resonated in the hall. His eyes conveyed an expression of intense pain. You stare at him and he looks up at you with wide eyes, red liquids seeping down the length of his arm.

_Shit._


	4. The Coldest Spring

The Coldest Spring

_No. This cannot be happening._

This is all your brain says as you look up and see the last person you wanted or needed to see at a time like this. You had kept it hidden for so long and now a moment of weakness has stolen everything away.

"Ron! Are you alright?" asks the Slytherin youth, rushing toward you, trying to help you up. You pull away, with nothing but a deadly seriousness in your eyes.

"I'm fine. It was nothing, I just choked while I was breathing." Sure, like anyone would believe that. Oh well, you had always been a terrible liar. He glares at you, reading through the lie that no one believed.

"No, it isn't nothing, Ron. You're sick." You feel irritation rise to your chest.

"I'm quite aware of that, Harry. Thank you, for pointing the more than obvious." You didn't mean that, and this is one of those moments you feel like hitting yourself. This isn't you.

"Idiot." He looks at you defiantly. "Only hours ago you told me I shouldn't be a child, but right now you treat me like one. And now you tell me that I should leave you alone, but in Hagrid's hut, when all I wanted was to be alone, you wouldn't leave me alone. Tell me, are you really this redundant?" Your annoyance peaks up a little higher, but that's only because you that what he's saying is true. You feel the urge to hit him again but miraculously you restrain yourself and wait for him to say more.

"Is it tuberculosis?" he asks you, coming loser to wipe the blood from your hands with his handkerchief.

"I'm pretty sure it's obvious, Harry." You walk to the wall and slide down against it burying your head in your hands. You feel uncomfortable for only hours ago your positions were reversed.

"For how long?"

"Seven years." You look up to meet his surprised face but it is you who are surprised to see that he is undaunted.

"Who knows?"

"No one until now." You say, yours ears red and heat rises in your chest, replacing your anger, and you feel him bring you up by the collar.

"You haven't told _anyone_?" he demands, looking at you directly in the eye. You shake your head and Harry's frustration becomes evident.

"You could've died! What the hell were you thinking?" What _were _you thinking? You wonder as you look at across to the other wall. Silence passes in all his glory while something dawns on both of you.

"_Do you even know what it's like to know that you're going to die? To know you won't live to see the age of thirty?" he asks you. _

"_I have a vague idea." That was the biggest overstatement you had ever made in your entire life. Of course you knew what it was like to know you would never see the age of thirty. In fact, it was even a surprise you even made it to seventeen. Tuberculosis was funny like that, it placed the blade on your heart without drawing blood, and little by little it twisted inside letting the blood flow out but never enough to finish you off until it was done playing with its toy._

"_That's all you have. A vague idea." No. It wasn't all you had, not a vague idea. All you_

really _had was far worse. Death had been knocking on your door for a long time, you just ignored_ _him, but he was patient, death. He waited until he could wait no more and would smash the door to pieces. But you were even more persistent than Death. You wanted to live. You wanted to be there, not for yourself, but to be there if anyone needed you. Cruel, this all was, but you wouldn't let Death win. You wanted him to wait. He wasn't going to come in. Not yet._

"Why didn't you tell anyone, Ron? Why were you hurting yourself?" He doesn't look at you anymore. He's afraid and you can feel his fear. You know exactly why you didn't tell anyone but it would be hard to explain. No one wants to die.

"If I told anyone, they would all treat me as if I'm dying. I _don't _want that." You say quietly, turning to leave for the North tower.

"But you _are_ dying!" You freeze. You hadn't been expecting that. You meet his eyes, rotating your head. Now that he realizes what he had just said, his eyes are wide and he looks up at you like a person who'd just made a great mistake and was now uncertain. You smirk and look at him. You had never acted like this before, clearly, you are not yourself today

"I may be dying, Harry, but I refuse to let people treat me that way. I don't want people to think that I am weak." No one should think that you are weak. You aren't, of course, of course not, you have never been weak. It's the reason why you're still alive, isn't it?

_Because I am strong, I'm still alive._

"Ron, what are saying about being weak and strong? Don't you understand what could have happened if I didn't find out about this? You would have died!"

"You haven't done anything to help me! Even without your help I'm still alive. I've been alive for seven years with the disease and no one has helped me. I do not need your help, Harry." You say it with such calm anger that the other boy staggers away from you. His green eyes convey pain that you are all too familiar with, but you don't care anymore. You've already helped him once. You owe him nothing.

"I don't understand…who are you? You're not like the Ron I knew," he says softly to you. It's almost a whisper but in the silence, it's loud and unmistakable.

Who are you? Hm, you don't even know, do you? You stand there looking at the young man destined to change the world who is asking you who you are and you have no idea what to say because deep inside you know no answer.

_Who am I?_

"I am whomever I choose to be. If you cannot see that then you never knew me at all, Harry Potter."

"You're lying." He says it as though it's the only way to break you, to get inside. But you're stronger that. Right?

"Prove it." He looks away from you and a feeling of great frustration mounted with regret, sorrow, guilt and so many other emotions washes over you. You can't explain it. It's funny because this isn't something new to you…this feeling.

Opening your blue eyes to a new day and knowing you're still alive relieves you but as you sit up that nameless emotion is suddenly there again, eating you little by little from the inside out. A bitter reflection of the sickness you carried in your lungs. You remember the first time you ever felt it. It was the last day of spring and it was the coldest spring ever. It waited for you to wake up so you could suffer its game of torture. And that's what it is, pure torture.

"I know you more than you think. You're funny and nice and you definitely are strong. But you make yourself look so much stronger than you really are and you appear so much weaker that way," he says and you are brought back, crashing sown to reality. You had forgotten he was even here. Your face twists in distaste. This boy is getting on your nerves a lot today, more than Hermione does in a year.

"Now who's redundant? Just a minute ago you were asking who I was, but now you seem to know all the answers. So, which is it really?" You ask him, but as you do you feel something stinging in your throat. You open your mouth to say something more but all that comes out is another marathon of coughs. It hurt so much, that rattling in your lungs. You collapsed on the floor clutching you chest blood spilling from your mouth again. Hostility aside, the Slytherin boy rushes to you and brings you up and with his aid you slowly make your way to the one place you've avoided when it came to situations like this.

"I cannot believe the foolishness of your actions, Mr. Weasley," scolds Madame Pomfrey as you lie in bed and Harry has long been sent way, (not without being checked for tuberculosis), free from the sticky and dirty blood that you vomited on him.

"How could you think that you could handle tuberculosis on your own? You could have died!" she ranted on and on as she bustled for potions here and there. Undoubtedly, she was more than just frustrated with him. Naturally, who wouldn't be? How many times had he gone to the infirmary complaining of some minor wound just to get out of class, when in fact bacteria were slowly killing his lungs?

"Here," she says and hands you a glass of blue liquid. You take a sip and true enough it tastes horrible but you down it anyway. The last thing you need is another one of her legendary lectures.

"Next time," surprisingly her tone is gentler. "Do not be afraid to came to me if you're really sick, Mr. Weasley." You nod your head slightly. Sleep is now taking over you, slurring your words of you had any and making you eyes feel so heavy and so tired.

_I won't be afraid anymore._

When you wake the next morning you hear the sound of Hermione and Ginny's voice arguing with Harry's.

"Why didn't he tell _us_ anything? Why did he tell you about it?" demands your younger sister, sobbing. You can feel the tension in the air but you refuse to partake in any more fights that concern anyone's well being.

"He didn't tell me. I found out," he says to them. Suddenly you feel Hermione's body heat somewhere behind you looming over you with an air of vengeance. From her shadow you see that her arm is poised, ready to slap you. But as she strikes, Harry intervenes and your brain is still so scrambled that you can still wonder why in the world is Harry doing this?

"Don't, Hermione. Even though Ron didn't tell you, you can't hit him. He's still sick," warns the green-eyed boy.

"Hey, guys," you whisper sleepily, rubbing the last remainders of sleep. You turn to look at them and surprisingly; Hermione's eyes are red, just like Harry's when you found him in Hagrid's hut. Her lip quivers and she throws her arms around your shoulders.

"You idiot! How could you do this to yourself?!" she shrieked, sobbing on your pyjamas. You sigh. Hearing those words again and again was frustrating. You know they mean well, but still, you only need to be told off once.

You raise you hand to her face and wipe away her tears. She looks at you with those soft brown eyes behind her, Harry is giving you the same look; one of pain and sorrow for you. You pull both of them in a hug and you feel them purge the cold you feel from the wind. Inside, however, is a different story. Inside there is still cold, and the spring is late. Inside the winter wind rages and the solitary cherry blossom on the white blanket is whisked away.


	5. It isn't over

It isn't over

December 15, 1999

You still cannot believe that you were there, celebrating your seventeenth birthday in Grimmauld Place with Remus, Ron, Hermione and the other Weasleys, who have warmly accepted you as a part of the large "family" they had along with Remus and Hermione. Your cake was huge with great amounts of chocolate lava spilling from inside of it as it was being cut in such a slow, glorious way. It was the first time in so long that a genuine smile spread itself on your face like thick luscious jam on toast and you could not help but push away all the anxiety and fear and feel only joy and gladness. The echoing chorus of the birthday songs was deafening and the explosions outside were similar to the fireworks that Fred and George created. The screams of terror were ignored and they continued their temporary merry-making. After all, those last moments of ignorance were truly bliss. For right now, you are preparing for the final battle, the duel that would decide who was the stronger wizard and who would prevail. Right now, there is no more time for hesitation, all there is, is do or die. And you have to win. Even if it means death, you will destroy the man who stole everything from you, not only for yourself, but also for Ron, for Hermione, for Remus, for Sirius, for your parents, for Dumbledore and for the world.

"Harry?" says a voice you know only to be Ron. You turn to look at him and once again you notice the stark changes tuberculosis has set on your friend. His eyes are sunken in, dark circles delimit those indigo spheres and rapidly, he is losing weight. Ron was almost always tired but he could never fall asleep easily. You feel grief for him since you were there when slumber was impossible for him and you were there in those broken nights beleaguered with nightmares.

"Yes, Ron?" He looks at you with such a stoic expression that you a foreboding sensation stain you. Then you notice that he is wearing his Auror robes and that foreboding sensation churns your stomach as you prepare for what he is about to say.

"I'm coming with you." You stare at him in trepidation. He says it so simply as though you are just going to take a stroll in the park.

"No. You don't have to, you protest.

_He shouldn't have to._

But his is clearly undaunted.

"It's not what I have to do." His eyes are and yours and you see the determination and conviction glazing in his blues eyes like an ocean in a violent storm. "It's what I _want _to do."

"But you're sick…" you say helplessly.

"I'd rather die in battle than on a death bed!" bellow the red head. The tip of his ears are scarlet and anger is fused with such fortitude and fervour; an amalgamation that never means well for the receiving end of a quarrel that involved any Weasley.

"I don't want you to die this way!" you yell back at him, sincerely worried about his welfare.

"I think how _I _want to die is up to me, Harry!"

"You don't understand!" But he slams his hand on the oak table his eyes no longer just angry but they were screaming complete rage.

"No. _You_ don't understand, Harry." He walks over to the dust-covered tabletop and looks at he pictures intently. "I need this," his voice is barely a whisper but in the resounding silence it is a bell. "I need to know why I'm still alive…"

"Crucio!" The voice of Lucius Malfoy echoes in your ears and you see Ron cringing on the floor. He does not scream instead he is biting on his lip and his eyes are squeezed shut. Anger wells up inside you but Hermione reaches the blond man first. You are temporarily distracted but that cold voice brings you back to why you are here. Your heart is pounding in your chest and at last this will be the last time you will ever have to face this man, or creature, again. Half the Order is dead but there is twice the number of Death Eaters either dead or in captivity. The duel between you and Voldemort is the only way to end this war.

"Hello, Harry. It certainly has been a long time since we last met." He greets you with a grin full of malice and you shudder. Trepidation courses through your veins and it's getting hard to breathe. You are scared, no, petrified, not of the thing before you rather the thought of dying. All you've ever done was to live and now Death, with his name woven throughout you, is about to take you home. Nevertheless, you are ready to do what you must. You nod in agreement to his statement.

"Yes, Voldemort. It has been a long time…and this will be the last time." He studies you almost thoughtfully before he smirks.

"Are you _really _this eager to die?"

"No," you say softly; loud enough for only him to hear. "Neither are you. But one of us has to die."

He sneers at you and your scar begins to burn. The pain is immense but it is not strong enough to stop you.

"You are very brave to say that, Harry, for it is _you _who will perish." He laughs and your head feels like it's going to split in two and warm liquid spills from it but your tenacity, no matter what, is still stronger than any pain in the world. As he mocks you, you raise your wand and use your left hand to keep a steady arm. You feel so tired; the effort just to stand is draining you of energy. As you take aim you this could be the last spell you will ever cast. Your words are barely a whisper but the spell had been cast.

Avada Kedavra.

The defeated Dark Lord crumples in a heap on the floor with the look of mocking laughter still lucid in his reptilian face. You feel the last of your strength slip from your fingers along with you wand. Its echoing crash turns heads and someone catches you before you fall.

"That was bloody brilliant, mate." Your head rests on someone's lap but you are too tired you bother to see who it is. You recognize the voice as Ron's and though he's pale and his lips are bleeding his grin is radiant. Hermione kneels beside you and even she has a smile on her face.

"It's over," she whispers, holding your hand in hers. You lift your head slightly to look at Ron and his grin melts into an affectionate smile. He helps you sit up and places a hand on your head, patting it gently. A feeling of content captures you and you fall back on his lap and fall asleep.

"He's powerless now."

You look up at the mediwizard with distress weaving itself on your features.

_No. It is impossible._

"Harry Potter is no longer a wizard." Hermione's face falls and you look over at the bed where Harry lay, looking like a small innocent boy. A boy who had seen too much and knew so little.

"I don't understand," Hermione says. The mediwizard looks troubled, he cannot really explain.

"It's really simple, Miss Granger. When he cast the last spell he used up all his energy. It was a miracle he even survived." The mediwizard looked at the two of them with genuine regret. "All magical ability is gone from him. He cannot practice any sort of wizardry. In short, he is a muggle now."

You don't want to believe what he is saying. It all seemed to far-fetched. How could the saviour of the world be so powerless now?

"The effect of this knowledge can severely damage Mr. Potter's psychological being. And we have no choice but to erase his memory," continued the mediwizard. Hermione opens her mouth to protest but you raise you hand to silence her.

"No." You gaze directly at the mediwizard's eye. "That choice is still Harry's." The older man glares at you with contempt. You know he thinks what he's doing is for the best but not everyone was like Harry and you know that.

"This is no longer a matter of choice, Mr. Weasley. He will become psychologically ill if we do not take action." This is stupid. Don't they realize the greater damage of erasing Harry's memories? Can't they see through their own madness?

"Erasing his memories will only drive him mad! Do you really think erasing his almost his entire life will solve anything!" The mediwizard's eyes are darting around rapidly as though he's looking for assurance from someone but there was no one there to back him up. No ministry officials were allowed inside the room and only Dumbledore, the remnants of the Weasleys, Remus and a few others.

"He's knows too much!" This statement breaks a fuse in your brain. That is what this dispute is about? Because he knows too much? Remus looked mildly exasperated and some others were fuming. You are about to bellow something obscenely rude to the rapidly balding man but a soft voice cuts through your sentiment.

"I don't want my memory erased." You all turn to look at Harry and see that he is sitting upright and has removed the bandages on his forehead. I don't want anything taken away from me anymore."

The mediwizard looks lost and you can't help but snigger a little. But as you do so a loud cough erupts from your throat and suddenly you can't breathe. Everyone is rushing to try and help you except Dumbledore and Remus and this only impairs the situation further.

Your lungs feel so painful and blood is dribbling from your mouth. And just as it came it suddenly stops.

You look up at Harry and his green eyes are on you watching you intently. You smile at him and he smiles back. It is so poignantly transcendent the way that in between moments of your attacks you and he can still smile.

"I don't want to forget anything. Or anyone." He looks at all of you in the room (save for the mediwizard) significantly. "I want to remember it all."

"But–"

"But what?" asks Remus quietly, eyeing the medical man.

He says nothing and leaves the room. Silence settles itself for a moment and you wonder what is left for Harry now that he has no magical energy in him and no significant muggle education.

"Can I still play Quidditch?" Harry asks and Remus looks thoughtful, you, Hermione and the others are doubtful while Dumbledore has that silly knowing smile plastered on his face.

"Yes, you can." Harry smiles contentedly and lies back on his pillow, getting himself ready to sleep. You feel a grin pull your lips. How could you have forgotten Quidditch?

In spite of everything, there is quidditch that Harry does not need magic or muggle education for.

There is always Quidditch.


	6. The Hero Dies In This One

Epilogue: The Hero Dies In This One

The Boy Who Lived has finally died.

No one mourns for him as he is buried deep beneath the earth. He lies alone, forgotten and unmoving inside the closed partition, tucked away in that hidden corner. There are no flowers on his grave.

There never are.

Not one single blossom laments the fallen hero. His powers are no longer important or in existence and he is, at this point, a nobody. Oh, yes he is in all history books. He is, in any event, the murderer of Lord Voldemort. However, he is not praised. After all, who would admire a man who was previously called a madman in his youth? Who wanted their hero to be a coward, who killed his opponent in his moment of weakness?

Who would love The Boy Who Lived?

He was not a hero.

Who would love him?

For when The Boy Who Lived died, Harry Potter was born.

La Fin


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